“I know I’ll be back for yearly check-ups,” I say, choked with emotion. “But…this feels like goodbye. And good riddance.” I hiccup. “You don’t even know how much time I’ve spent in that building.”
Wes holds me tight against his side. Says nothing. There’s nothing to be said.
I turn away and Wes helps me into the passenger seat. Buckles me, kisses me.
“I can’t wait to be home,” I whisper, holding his face in my hands. “Home, with you.”
He kisses me again. “I can’t wait to marry you.”
I giggle breathlessly. “You said Jen is planning the wedding already?”
He nods. “She’s saved some decisions for you. She’s got a designer ready to bring a truckload of dresses for you to try on.”
“All I care about is being your wife.”
“That’s theonlything you care about?”
I nod. Then, tip my head to the side with a sly grin. “Well, that and getting you alone.” I reach down and cup him over his jeans. “I’m so jumping your bones the moment we walk in that door.”
He bites my lower lip, a sharp, playful nip. “Not if I jump you first.”
I shake my head. “I may not make it home, Wes.” I let it all burn in my gaze. “A whole month, in that hospital, alone in the bed every night, missing you, needing you, barely getting to even kiss you very often.” My voice is husky. “I freakingneedyou, Wes.”
His eyes devour mine. “I know, my love.” He grins. “Your family wanted to have a party when we got home, but I managed to talk them out of it. I said you’d want some time home alone to unwind before a big party.” The grin widens. “Mainly, I just selfishly wanted time alone with you. If you’re feeling up to it.”
I dig my fingernails into his bicep. “Westley, you never have to ask that again. If I’m up to it.” I clutch him, feeling him respond to my touch. “The question is, are youupto it?”
“Let’s get home and find out, shall we?”
* * *
We find out.
Slowly.
Despite our feverish need for each other, by some unspoken understanding, we take it slow. We strip each other, piece by piece, until we’re naked and panting for each other. We stand at the foot of the bed, door closed, lights down. It’s evening, twilight turning to night beyond the windows. A foot separates us. His eyes rake over my body, flitting from my eyes to my breasts to my core, and back up.
“So, so beautiful,” he breathes.
“Thank you.” It’s all I can manage.
His hands clasp around my hips, pull me toward him. “I can’t wait anymore, Jo. I need you.”
I let him pull me closer, and he kisses me. His lips are hungry, his tongue eager. For a long moment, it’s merely our mouths fused, tongues writhing together, and then his hands press me backward to the bed. I fall, and I revel in the fact that I feel gloriously, unusually, incredibly well. Strong, and free.
It really is gone. Not just in remission, butgone.
His mouth touches my breast, and I gasp, back arching at the sting of electricity that sears through me. And then his fingers find my sex and I’m gasping, and his lips and tongue press against my clit and I’m screaming his name as he brings me to the edge of climax and sends me over it within seconds. I fly into paroxysms of ecstasy as he continues to love my sex with his mouth, again and again, as if to make me come once for every tear he shed, thinking he’d lose me.
I lose track of where I am or how many times he makes me come, each rolling wave of glorious bliss blending with the next until I’m a puddle of jellied woman on the bed, gasping breathless and shuddering and shaking.
I pull him up to me. “Love me, Wes.”
He climbs up my body. Presses himself between my thighs. I clutch him and nestle him where he belongs: inside me. His gaze on mine, with our love bursting between us, gratitude and amazement and a million other emotions with it, we join. He plunges into me, filling me inch by slow, stretching inch.
“Oh god, Jo,” he breathes, his voice ragged. “God, I’ve missed this.”
I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck and cling to him and move with him and pull him closer and press up against him and sink him deeper into me. I’ve never felt so complete, so perfect, so happy.
